


Not A Horse At Market

by wraithsonwings



Category: Hannibal Extended Universe - Fandom, King Arthur (2004)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Biting, Blow Jobs, Clothed Sex, Come Eating, Come play, Fluff and Angst, Frottage, Frotting, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, POV Tristan, Partially Clothed Sex, Scar porn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-27
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2018-10-24 13:41:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10742829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wraithsonwings/pseuds/wraithsonwings
Summary: Based on this prompt:OK... so everyone pretty much headcanons Tristan not dying at the end. So how about he doesn't die but is injured and has to recover. Meanwhile Galahad is sent off on some random scouting exercise or something as he is still fit and well and it needs doing. Turns out all this time they have been skirting around being interested in each other.  Maybe Galahad doesn't even know Tristan pulled through. But he gets back and Tristan is recovered and neither of them can hold back the relief of being back together and then SMUT!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TigerPrawn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TigerPrawn/gifts).



> Who is the winner of my 200 follower giveaway on Tumblr. They wanted Tristhad, and I enjoyed the challenge of a new pairing. :3
> 
>  
> 
> Many thanks, again, to my beta [Weconqueratdawn](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Weconqueratdawn/pseuds/Weconqueratdawn), who was wonderful about the last minute request. :3

Tristan sat propped up in bed.  Boredom was now a constant threat to drag him into sleep.  Today he was doodling on an old scrap of parchment.  The latest tree he’d been sketching had betrayed him, turning into the boy’s smiling face.  The crawling feeling in his gut had nothing to do with his illness, and it grew with each passing day.   _What if the boy never returned?_

 

“Sir!”  A squawk.  

 

His dinner had arrived.  He looked to the nursemaid in the doorway.  She’d averted her eyes.  The large tray in her arms held a very familiar bowl and a large chunk of bread.

 

“Let me guess, soup?”

 

“Cover yourself,” The maid remained frozen. “You’re well enough for propriety.”

 

“I was hot.” Tristan sighed.

 

He carefully placed his drawing face down on the small table next to the bed, and pulled the thin sheet over his lap.  The maid materialized at his side, placing the tray on the table, and reached out to his forehead.  Her wrist was cool against his skin.

 

“The fever has returned.”

 

“Yes, like it has come and gone for weeks.  I feel fine, just hot.”

 

Tristan closed his eyes, simply absorbing the feel of her cool hands on his face. For once, he didn't complain at her prying open his eyes for a look, or peering into the back of his throat. He relaxed against his pillows, just feeling her cool fingers as they felt for the glands in his neck. She was firm, certain. An imagining stole into his mind, of Galahad over him, dragging fingers along his hot skin, down his throat, down his chest, down...

  


The door swung open with a crash, the nursemaid jumped, and Galahad was there. The boy was fully armoured, streaked with mud all the way up to his thighs, and his sweaty curls stuck to his forehead.

 

“You are alive!  I believed the girl had misunderstood me. When I’d asked to see your grave, she’d shook her head and led me into the keep.”

 

Tristan blinked at the spectre haunting the doorway. He’d seen it before.

 

“Tristan!  Are you alright?  Are you listening to me, Tristan?”  His head swung to the maid.  “Is he alright?”

 

The broken gaze set him free. Tristan took a breath. The boy addressed the nursemaid. His voice was distant, even though he was so near. A single drop of water rolled from his temple, through his short beard and down his neck. He’d been in the rain. Tristan took in every inch, scanning him from head to foot.  He was dirty, but looked hale enough. With a sharp gesture, Galahad sent the maid from the room. They both watched as she closed the door behind her. They were alone.

 

“You're late.”

 

The boy snapped around to face him.

 

“I’m late?  That's what you have to say to me?  You nearly died, Tristan. I thought you dead!”

 

“Arthur was worried.”

 

Pain flitted through Galahad's eyes. He always wore his emotions for everyone to see.  Tristan swallowed.

 

“I was worried.”

 

“You were worried about me?  Worried that I can't handle a simple job on my own, Tristan? Worried that I can't take care of myself?!”

 

“No, Galahad, no. I was worried that I wasn't with you, that something would happen and _I wasn't there.”_ The boy glared at him, nostrils flaring.  “Worried that I would die without seeing you again, without saying… ”

 

“I…”  Galahad blinked at him a moment and stepped to the foot of the bed.

 

“Why are you so angry?”

 

“I-I don't know.” He ran his hand through his hair. “Because I ran. Because I'm a coward and I ran.”

 

“You're not a coward.”

 

“Yes, I am. I was afraid to watch you die, so I left you alone, to die alone… I…”

 

“Galahad.”

 

“No one believed you would live. When Arthur proposed that mission, I leaped at the opportunity to go, to go far and go fast. I could not stay and watch you die.”  He dropped his eyes to the floor.  “And then I left you to die.  I just left you… I ran.”

 

“Galahad!”  The boy's eyes shot back up. “I didn't die.”

 

“How?” He whispered.

 

“Because you ran.”

 

“What?” He blinked away unshed tears.

 

“I had to live because you ran.”

 

Confusion was a shroud. The boy couldn't see. Tristan smiled.

 

“Who else would give you shit for leaving me to die alone?”

 

“Oh, you ass…” He smiled then, so wide, genuine. “By all rights you should have died. It's a bloody miracle, and you're making jokes?”

 

Galahad moved up to him, slowly running his fierce gaze along every exposed inch.  It could’ve been a caress the way Tristan’s heart raced.  Galahad frowned darkly, and fell to his knees beside the bed. His hands shook as he gently placed them against one jagged red slice across his chest.  Tristan froze, to give him a moment. Fingers ghosted along new tissue. There was a tightness, a pulling of the skin, but no cool touch. The pressure was a dull ache and Tristan tensed when cold hands moved across to the other red stripe. Galahad splayed his hands wide. They were larger than Tristan imagined, weathered, and calloused from the reins. He hissed as a thumb brushed a nipple.

 

“Did I hurt you?”

 

“No.”

Galahad dragged his hands down, so slowly down his belly, almost following the heat as it pooled in Tristan’s groin.  He hadn’t felt this stirring in quite a while.  The warmth almost foreign after burning nights and freezing days spent wandering in dreams.  The reality of it almost unbelievable, as the boy rested his cheek against his stomach.  The soft beard tickled when he moved.

 

“Watch for stubble burn, boy.”

 

“I wouldn’t do that to you.”

 

“I meant on your cheek.”  He huffed.

 

He received a half-hearted glare, muted by the Galahad’s blush.

 

“Why must you tease?”

 

“Because I,” he stuttered, and reached out to run a hand through his curls. “I missed you.”

 

He cupped his face, and Galahad nuzzled into the touch before planting a gentle kiss beneath Tristan’s belly button, and another below that.

 

“Now, “ Another soft kiss. “Where does this manly trail lead, exactly?”

 

The flick of eyes spoke of mischief.  Tristan raised a brow.

 

“Maybe you should find out?”

 

Galahad planted one last kiss and, pausing only a moment, pulled back the sheet.  He ran a finger down the length of Tristan’s cock, featherlight, barely there.  He teased it, where it lay in the crook of his thigh, until it curved up his belly.  Brushing his fingers through the coarse hair at the base, he cupped Tristan’s balls, rolling them gently.  A soft groan escaped Tristan’s lips.  His eyes fluttered closed just as those fingers tickled their way back along his length, to gently slide back his foreskin.  He snapped them back open to watch the boy slowly expose the head of his cock and then loosely curl his hand around the shaft.  He cupped it gently, as though it were something delicate, fragile.

 

“It needs a firm hand.  Don’t be afraid, young pup.”

 

“I’m not afraid of your cock, Tristan.” He snapped.  ‘I just… I don’t want to hurt you.”

 

“I never meant that.  I know you fear no monster, no matter how large.” He winked at the boy’s annoyed huff.  “Just that you needn’t worry about me.”

 

“You are terrible, Tristan.”

 

Galahad squeezed him hard, then pushed his foreskin back up over the head.  Sliding it down again, he pulled Tristan's cock away from where it rested. He leaned in and pressed his lips to the glistening tip just as it poked free. Tristan groaned, and the boy barely even touched him. A sharp twist of his hand made him hiss and he nearly choked as Galahad sucked the head into his hot, wet mouth. He pulled off slowly, with a lazy smile, before burying his face at the base of Tristan’s cock. Hot breath was followed by a wet tongue, and Galahad slowly dragged it up the entire length. He briefly caught Tristan's eye, but ducked his head again. He kissed and licked his way back up, leaving a wet trail to drag his thumb through, and wrapped his lips around the head. He sucked Tristan in, just to his throat before retreating, tongue working. He stroked hard, sliding the skin in his tight grip. Tristan moaned and dropped his hand into his hair, twisting his fingers in damp curls.  He tilted the boy’s head back to get a better look at those glistening, debauched lips wrapped around him, at the pinkness in his cheeks, and the blackness of those eyes.  A trickle of saliva ran down his shaft and Galahad’s firm hand stroked up to meet it.  He would have to put a stop to this soon. This heaven couldn't last, and he didn't want it to end now.

 

“Stop, Galahad.” Cupping the boy’s face made him pause. “Get up. I want to do this with you.”

 

A brief crinkle of the brow and Galahad slowly pulled up off him. Tristan hissed at the strong suction, the feel of the boy's tongue along his length, and audibly sighed when he slipped free. He dropped back to his pillows. Galahad smirked up at him from where he sat back on his heels, right next to the bed. Tristan cocked his brow. The boy dropped his gaze. A pink tinge spread to his ears.

 

“You blush like a girl.” Tristan smirked. “Your milky skin hides nothing, boy.”

 

Galahad glared daggers at him. _There was his boy._

 

“I bet you're pink all the way to your toes.  Let's have a look.”

 

His lip twitched, the start of a snarl, but Galahad pressed his lips tight. Climbing to his feet, he made short work of the straps at one side, and wriggled free of his armour. He pulled his tunic over his head and toed off his boots. With a pointed look, he froze Tristan's breath and, untying his shorts, he let them fall to the floor.

 

Nearly every inch was pink, his proud cock, red, and Tristan took a long, hard look, licking his lips. He caught the boy's eye. Galahad sported a definite twinkle. Tristan smiled, and signaled him to turn around.

 

“I’m not some horse at market.”

 

“Perhaps I should examine your teeth. Come here.”

 

The boy stepped close, leaning into Tristan’s space, taking over his space. Tristan took a firm hold on Galahad's chin and pulled him even closer.

 

“Open your mouth.”

 

Galahad smiled, all teeth. Tristan placed his thumb on the lower lip.

 

“Open.”

 

The boy slowly obeyed. Tristan kissed him then, rough, forcing his way in, and stole his breath.  Galahad smelled of earth and growing things, of rain.  He smelled like freedom, and tasted like home.  Tristan grabbed the back of his head, tangling his fingers in his hair.  He held him close, to feel his lips against his own, to feel him on the inside, his teeth, the roof of his mouth.  Tristan had never dreamed of this.   _This must be real._  He took one more moment, one more sweep of the tongue, one last lick at swollen lips, and then pulled away.  He stared at Galahad’s lashes until his eyes finally opened.  He could get lost in the darkness of those blown pupils ringed in blue.  He could almost see himself reflected there.   _Did Galahad see him the same way?_

 

“No,” he released the boy suddenly. “You are definitely not a horse.  Am I?”  An arched brow, a tease. “Perhaps you should straddle me?”

 

Tristan patted his lap, an invitation.  Galahad glanced down, but quickly averted his eyes.  That blush would never subside, especially if Tristan had his way.  Tristan took him by the chin and pulled his gaze back.  At least the boy could meet his eye.  Tristan dropped his hand to Galahad’s throat.  His heart raced beneath his fingers.  Tristan just smiled at his boy, feeling the life pulse in his hand, and waited.  It slowed from frantic to merely excited.  He dropped his hand and it came to rest on a warm thigh, pressed against his hip.   _When had Galahad sat on the edge of the bed?_  Dry mud flaked off under his palm.  He gave Galahad a firm squeeze, tension sang through the large muscle.  The boy dropped his gaze, and covered Tristan’s hand with his own.  Tristan twisted his wrist and, palm to palm, took Galahad’s hand a moment, before moving it to the crease where thigh met crotch.  His hand was cool against Tristan’s burning skin.  Galahad looked down at him now.

 

“You’re no longer hard.  What’s wrong?”  A tremor in that voice.  “Have I done something?”  The rest a breathless rush.  “I have been so hard from the very moment my lips touched your cock.  I don’t believe I’ve ever been this hard in my life.  I…”

 

“You’ve done nothing wrong, pup.  I’ve been unwell, is all.  Come on.” He patted his lap once more and, running a finger the length of his cock, he continued, “I’m sure we can fix this together.”

 

Galahad swung a leg over and sat across Tristan’s thighs.  He was heavy, comforting.  There must’ve been a lot of muscle to that compact frame.  That, or Tristan was really as weak as everyone kept trying to tell him whenever he wanted outside.  The boy shifted, placing his hands on Tristan’s shoulders, and leaned in for a kiss.  Tristan let him in.  He was a delicious weight pressing down.  He ran his hands up his back, just feeling.   _Nope.  It was definitely the boy’s fault, all his surprising weight._ Tristan dragged fingers along the boy’s neck and took his head in his hands.  He took over the kiss, forcing his way in, licking and biting those swollen lips.  Galahad pressed closer and his hot, hard cock rubbed against Tristan’s crotch.

 

“Ah, “  he gasped.  “You fight dirty, boy.”

 

“Sorry, “ he breathed against Tristan’s lips, and sat back on his thighs.

 

“No, you’re not.”

 

“No, I’m definitely not.”  He smirked.

 

Tristan grabbed the boy’s ass, roughly sliding him forward, and ground against him.  He used a hard squeeze to encourage Galahad to thrust, to slide his cock along Tristan’s length, to coax it to life.  The boy was eager to please.  He rutted against him, taking Tristan by the back of the neck and pressing their foreheads together.  They shared their breaths, so close, as Galahad’s free hand traced along his new scars, his nipples.  His hand was still cold.  Tristan burned.  It was awkward.  It was delicious.

 

“I can’t believe you’re alive.” The whisper loud against his face.

 

“I can’t believe you’re really here.”

 

"I can't believe-" they both began and broke off laughing.

 

"I can't believe we're doing this," Galahad finished.

 

"Me neither."

 

They pressed their lips together, almost chaste, until Tristan teased with his tongue.  Galahad opened to him.  He was so irresistible, and Tristan took full advantage.  The boy, still rubbing against him, stuttered in his rhythm.  Tristan took one more kiss before pushing him back.  Galahad’s chest heaved against his hands with each breath.  He was finally warm to Tristan’s touch, sweat-damp and flushed.  They were both feverish now.

 

“Slow down, young pup.”

 

He glanced at his half hard cock and snarled.  Galahad’s was nearly purple, leaking where it stood proudly against the boy’s belly.

 

“Have patience.  You’re going to finish before I even get started.”

 

As Tristan sat the boy up fully, Galahad ran his hands along Tristan’s sides to hold his hips, palms rough against Tristan’s skin.  Tristan just watched him for a moment.  He watched sweat run down his neck, along his chest, as the boy’s breathing steadied.  He waited for Galahad to calm.  Just when he looked poised to question, Tristan took one of the boy’s hands and placed it on his own cock, encouraging him to help Tristan along.  Galahad curled his fingers tight and began a slow stroke.  He caught Tristan’s eye, looking for approval, or perhaps direction.  Tristan kept a loose hold on his hand as it worked.  He held his gaze, licking his lips, and Galahad continued, a little firmer, faster.  He shifted his grip, added a twist, without even a word.  He read Tristan well, his intense stare all concentration.  The boy was absolutely beautiful, sitting in his lap.  With blood finally filling his cock, Tristan could breathe again. Releasing his hold on the boy’s hand, his eyes slipped shut.

 

When he opened them, it was to watch Galahad’s hand all over his dick.  He also watched the boy’s cock twitch, leaking untouched, as precome dribbled down its length.  Tristan’s mouth flooded with spit.  He put it to good use, slicking up his hand and smearing it along his own shaft.  Galahad’s hand slipped against his skin much easier now.  Tristan moaned loudly, and the boy froze.  His thighs clamped tight around Tristan’s hips, and Galahad nearly choked.  Tristan grabbed the head of his cock and squeezed hard.

 

“Not yet, pup.  Shhh…”

 

They both stilled, waiting to see if Galahad could return from the edge.  The boy shook gently, and released a harsh breath.  He slumped slightly, curling toward Tristan, and dropped his hands to the bed.  He just breathed, relaxing.  When Tristan finally let go of his cock, his hand was wet.  He wiped this precome all over his own dick, before returning to collect all he could from off Galahad’s belly and smear it up the boy’s cock.  When he brought his hand up for a taste, Galahad stared as he popped two fingers in his mouth.  He waited for him to meet his eye before slipping the fingers free, humming the whole time.  He smiled at the pink tongue that poked out as the boy bit his lower lip.  Tristan then reached down and carefully took them both in one large hand.  He began a very slow stroke.  Galahad grabbed his shoulders, clutching for balance.

 

“Oh god, Tristan… “  he mumbled into his neck, lips pressed to his skin, “Please.”

 

The boy thrust up into the next downstroke, fucking Tristan’s hand, fucking against his dick.  Galahad took over the pace, stealing control, and set a steady, fast rhythm.  Growling in the boy’s ear, Tristan let him.  He held them tight, and just slipped into the feel of the slick, hot cock moving against his, the smell of sex and Galahad’s sweat, the taste of the skin just beneath his ear, and the sounds of arousal hissed, grunted and moaned against his throat.  Everything tightened, spooled in his groin, as he fast approached the edge.  Sharp teeth pierced his neck.

 

“Oh, fuck!”

 

He spilled up his chest, hard.  Clutching and grabbing, he lost track of them.  He lost track of time.  Galahad shuddered in his arms.  A hot mouth panted at his throat, kissing at the bite there, and a wet tongue stung.  His hand ended up in the boy’s hair, holding him tucked under his chin.  Tristan stroked their softening cocks, and Galahad squirmed.  He released him to sit back up, running fingers down his side, and rested his hand on a wonderful ass.  He refused to relinquish the soft cock in his hand.  They sat quiet, trying to capture their breath, and the boy broke the spell when he dragged his hands through the mess they’d made of Tristan’s chest.  It was cooling already, sticky, and Galahad smeared his palms down his belly.  

 

“Since you wouldn't let me taste you earlier…”

 

He lifted a hand to his mouth, pink tongue dragging along a palm, before he popped a finger in his mouth.  Tristan was transfixed. Galahad pulled it free with a pop, and started on the next. He stared Tristan down as he sucked every digit.  The sounds obscene in the now quiet room.  Once finished, Galahad lowered his hand, and Tristan pounced.  Grabbing the boy’s head in both hands, he smeared come across his cheek, in his hair.  He dirtied him, marked him, then pulled him in close to claim him.

 

“Indecent boy,”  he growled, with a kiss full of tongue and teeth.

 

“And I thought I needed a bath before.”  A breathy chuckle.

 

“Did you have a rough ride?”

 

“Yes,” Another quick kiss.  “But nothing I couldn’t handle.”

 

“I’ve no doubt,” he smirked.  “You’ve always done well with a beast between your legs.”

 

Galahad laughed, and then silenced him with a fierce tongue.  The kiss teased.  It apologized, and it loved.  Tristan arched against the boy, pressing every inch together, and Galahad stretched out atop him.  He twisted his hands in his curls, pulling his hair as they traded kisses, just exploring each other in the afterglow.

 

Tristan never wanted to leave this bed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Galahad gives Tristan a sponge bath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many thanks are due for this one:
> 
> Thank you so much to [shoegazerx](http://archiveofourown.org/users/shoegazerx) for the beautiful art! You were so supportive and wonderful and lovely to work with. Let's do this again!
> 
> Thanks to my wonderful beta / sounding boards who helped me and supported me when my confidence was at all all time low, [fragile-teacup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mrs_Gene_Hunt/pseuds/fragile-teacup), [purefoysgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/purefoysgirl) and [ThisIsMyDesignHannibal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisIsMyDesignHannibal).
> 
> And I can't forget [TigerPrawn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TigerPrawn), for the original prompt. Your little idea has grown.

 

 

 

Tristan cracked an eye when he heard the door. Galahad came in, clad only in his undershorts, his curls damp and his skin a dewy pink from his bath.   _He was beautiful._  Spying the washbasin in the boy's hands, he resigned himself to the indignity to come. He couldn't help the smile that stole across his face.

 

“The nursemaid told me that you're a horrible brat when she attempts to clean you up, but something tells me that you’ll be a good boy for me.”

 

“Who are you calling a boy, _boy?_ ”

 

“You, old man.” The insolent smile teased. “Come on, sit on the edge of the bed for me, love.”

 

Tristan’s heart stumbled and Galahad froze.  Tristan quickly moved into position as though nothing were amiss, sparing the boy his attention for a moment. Galahad turned to place the basin on the table next to the bed. Tristan delighted at the redness of his ears but held his tongue.  Carefully, Galahad  soaked the sponge and slowly wrung it out. The dripping was loud in the room. When he finally turned around it was with a heavy exhale. He refused to meet Tristan's eye.

 

Galahad worked quickly, but every touch was gentle.  The sponge ghosted across Tristan's shoulders, and water trickled down his chest and back. He shivered. The sponge chased the droplets as the boy leaned close.  Tristan could feel the heat radiate from Galahad’s skin. He smelled like soap. Tristan ached to smell _him_ , but resisted the urge to bury his face under his arm. Tristan just closed his eyes, waiting for Galahad to finish washing his back and step away. He jumped at the sudden plop of the sponge in the water.  Galahad was staring him down.

 

“Just… out with it.”

 

“What?”

 

“The tease… Whatever joke you have desperately contained.”

 

Galahad dropped his gaze.

 

“What do you mean, pup?”

 

Softly, Tristan pressed a hand to Galahad's cheek. He flinched.

 

“Come on, Tristan, just say whatever you have to say.”

 

“Look at me.”

 

Tristan took him by the chin and tilted his face up. Galahad peeked through his lashes for only a second.

 

“Let's see that pretty blush…”

 

The boy glared. Tristan had him now.

 

“Yes.”  He turned the boy’s face left and right, to get a good look.  “You are still the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, _love._ ”

 

Tristan pulled him in and pressed their lips together in a soft kiss, teasing lightly with his tongue. On a sigh, Galahad opened to him. Tristan slipped past those lips to explore for a moment.  Galahad kissed him back. His mouth was hot and the hand at the back of his head was fierce, tangling in his hair to hold him fast. Tristan growled low. He humoured the boy while indulging his own desire to taste and feel. He cupped Galahad’s face in his hands before pushing him away.

 

“Galahad?”

 

“Yes,” he sighed.

 

“Are you going to finish my bath or not?”  The boy blinked and Tristan raised a brow. “I'm getting cold and I’m still quite sticky.”

 

“Oh, fuck you, Tristan.”  He laughed. “So we aren’t going to talk about this?”

 

“I’d rather not.”

 

“Fine.”

 

Galahad was beautiful even when he pouted.  He turned back to the basin for the sponge and Tristan leered at the expanse of skin.  He wanted to touch the dimples on Galahad’s lower back, to drag his fingers down those thighs, but mostly to get him out of those shorts and onto the bed beneath him.  He schooled his face as Galahad turned around, but the boy’s sudden smirk said that he hadn’t been quick enough.  Galahad pushed Tristan’s knees apart and knelt between his legs.  He was meticulous with the sponge, washing every inch, across Tristan’s chest and down his belly.  A sweet reverence was saved for his new scars, and a hot, wet hand rested on the inside of Tristan’s thigh the entire time. Tristan was sure he could feel its radiating heat with his cock.

 

Galahad rinsed the sponge and quickly returned.  He washed Tristan’s feet, gently pulling them into his lap one at a time, and worked up each leg in turn.  He cradled each calf as he dragged the sponge over the knee and up the inside of Tristan’s thigh.  He stopped short of the one place Tristan most wanted his hand, making certain to catch Tristan’s eye and holding his gaze for a second time.  Blood rushed to Tristan's cock at the desire in that look, more than from Galahad’s touch, cock growing harder with each shallow breath.  The sponge was pulled easily from the boy’s loose grip.  Tristan tossed it in the general direction of the basin before pulling Galahad to his feet.  They stood nearly nose-to-nose, Tristan unwilling to lose contact with those eyes.  Galahad broke first, kissing with eager lips and sharp teeth.  Tristan hummed low.  Galahad was so warm pressed against him, but Tristan stepped back.  Turning the boy, he forced him across the bed, pressing him face down with his own body, and buried his face in the curls at the base of his neck.  He pressed his lips to the damp skin there.

 

“Mmmmm…” Galahad arched back against him. “Tristan…”

 

The roll of Galahad’s hips rubbed against Tristan’s hard cock, encouraging him to grind against the soft fabric covering his ass.  He thrust slowly, teasing Galahad, teasing himself.  Tristan sucked a bruise into the boy’s soft skin.  He dragged his lips down his spine, kissing between his shoulder blades, and pressed his fingers against the muscles of his back. They were tight beneath soft, hot skin. Tristan massaged the tension out, Galahad groaning and shifting beneath his touch, and Tristan stilled him with his weight, leaning down to Galahad's ear.

 

“Shhhh…” he hissed. “Stop grinding against the bed.”

 

Galahad laughed. Tristan worked his way back down his body, tongue teasing the bones of his spine. He gave Galahad's ass a squeeze as he kissed each dimple in the boy's back. Galahad shivered at the light touch of lips and arched back toward him. Tristan pressed him to the bed once more and Galahad thrust against it.  Tristan flipped him over and the boy grabbed hold of his arm. Galahad shivered.

 

“What do you think you're doing?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

A hand squeezed his cock, sliding up to the tip. Tristan swatted it away and broke the hold on his arm. He gathered those hands and pinned them above Galahad's head. The boy strained against him, twisting his hips.

 

“Takes more than that to unseat me, young pup.”

 

Tristan squeezed his thighs around Galahad’s hips. He pressed their foreheads together.

 

“But…” A quick taste of nervous tongue and wet lips.  “I don't think you actually want to.”

 

Tristan eased up, releasing one hand, and yanked Galahad's shorts down. They refused to budge.

 

“Undo them,” he growled against the boy’s mouth.

 

Galahad panted against his face.  Without breaking eye contact, he made short work of the ties.  Climbing off, Tristan ripped the offending cloth down  Galahad's legs and threw it to the floor.  Settling across his thighs, Tristan took his leaking cock in hand, but before he could tease even one stroke, the boy returned the favour. Tristan swatted away the feather-light touch. He pinned Galahad's hands at either side of his head, squeezing his wrists.

 

“Don't touch.”

 

Galahad rolled his hips with a groan.

 

_“Don't move.”_  A fierce growl in the boy's ear.

 

“Get to it then.”

 

Tristan looked him in the eye, and he could feel hot breath against his face.  Galahad didn’t move.  Tristan thrust against him and, rolling his hips, pressed his aching cock to the boy.  He ground down, rubbing his length against Galahad’s hard, hot cock where it was trapped beneath him.  With every snap of his hips, Galahad gasped.  He fucked back up, hard, their sweat and precome not enough to ease the rough drag of skin.  Tristan didn’t care.  It felt right.  It felt good.  He would take his pleasure.

 

“I’m going to come all over you, boy.”

 

“Yes, yes, yes.”

 

Galahad tried to raise his arms.  He tried to pull free.  Tristan crushed the delicate bones of his wrists.

 

“Oh fuck,” Galahad groaned, twisting against the force.  “Please?”

 

Tristan loosened his grip and Galahad slipped his wrists free, only to take Tristan by his hands, entwining their fingers.  He squeezed hard.  Tristan leaned against his palms, trapping the boy still.  Galahad raised his head, reaching to bring their mouths together.  Tristan rocked into it and they clashed.  He could taste blood, but Galahad continued to kiss him, wet and hot.  His tongue teased, so Tristan pulled a hand free to steady him. Grabbing curls, Tristan kept them pressed together, devouring.  He sucked at the boy’s split lip and copper danced across his palette.  Galahad’s tongue chased it and Tristan sucked on that too.  Galahad hummed, arching his back, pressing as close as he could.  Tristan knew then that  it was over.  Desperation guided his hips through a few erratic thrusts and he pulled free of Galahad’s mouth.  Galahad started keening and everything tightened.  Tristan curled against him, coming hard.  Gasping, panting against the boy’s throat, he spilled between them.

 

Hot breaths puffed in his hair, as Galahad heaved beneath him.  Tristan couldn’t quite feel the pulse in the throat beneath his lips, but the hard cock poking his belly was unmistakable.  He sat up as much as he could with the death grip Galahad still had on his hand.  He just stared a moment at this beautiful thing beneath him, fingers twisted in the sheets above his head, nails biting into the back of Tristan’s hand.  He was sweaty and flushed, begging with every gasp when he released his grip.  Tristan stole his breath with one last press of lips, one last sweep of tongue, and dropped to his knees next to the bed.  Pulling Galahad by the hips, he yanked him right to the edge and made sure he was between the boy’s spread legs when his feet dropped to the floor.  Tristan buried his face in Galahad’s crotch, licking come from the crease in Galahad’s thigh.  He lapped across the boy’s lower belly, cleaning every trace of himself from pink skin, until he found the precome pooling at the tip of Galahad’s cock where it curled up his belly.  He slurped hard and the boy moaned.  Tristan savoured those sounds.  He teased the head with hot breath as he moved past, keeping Galahad still with a hard grip on his hips.  Tristan cleaned every inch of stomach and pelvis before he turned back to the neglected cock.  It was hot, a dark red, when he finally took it in his hand.  The head peeked mostly free and Tristan gently slid the foreskin back, running his thumb across the frenulum.

 

“Oh god, Tristan, please…”

 

Tristan wrapped his lips around the tip, barely more than a kiss as he tongued the slit. Galahad squirmed, arching from the bed, and Tristan allowed the boy to thrust deep into his throat, swallowing around the hard length. Hands fisted in his hair, far too gently for Tristan's taste. He hummed low around Galahad's cock before pulling away, sucking hard as he slid back up.

 

“Oh fuck.”  Hands pulled his hair now.  “Nnnng… please… I…”

 

Tristan filled his lungs before plunging back down. He moaned as Galahad slid deep. Bobbing his head quickly, Tristan simply opened to the boy, who thrust up to meet him. Spit ran down Galahad’s shaft, over his sac, and Tristan smeared it as he gave his balls a hard squeeze. Galahad cried out, a primal encouragement, and fucked Tristan harder. He nearly choked under the relentless push, but still pressed his wet fingers along the perineum, sliding one digit into the tight hole. He hit his target and Galahad screamed, bowing from the mattress and spilling down the back of his throat. The boy dropped back to the bed, cock slipping most of the way out of Tristan’s mouth, but Tristan wanted a taste. Grabbing a firm hold on Galahad’s shaft, he stroked it as he curled his finger against the prostate. Another jet of come filled Tristan's mouth. He hummed as he swallowed it down. Galahad's cock gave another twitch when Tristan pulled his finger from his ass.

 

“Oh god,” Galahad sobbed.

 

Slowly, Tristan sucked him until he softened completely and slipped free. Tristan lapped up every drop of come before crawling up beside his boy.  Galahad curled against him, taking a taste from Tristan's mouth before pulling back to look him in the eye.

 

“What was all that?”

 

“Wouldn't want to waste your bath.”

 

Galahad laughed.

 

“Never did finish yours, and now you're even stickier.”

 

He pressed his lips to Galahad's forehead.  “Plenty of time later.”

 

“Yes… a lifetime, I hope.”

 

“Mmmmm…” Tristan hummed as he dragged his lips along Galahad's brow, brushing past feathery eyelashes. “I hope it's not a lifetime of sponge baths. I’d like to get out of this room someday.”

 

“I meant…”

 

Tristan stilled that mouth with his own. He licked past lips, gently tasting, and cupped Galahad's cheek. He rubbed small circles through his soft beard and ran his fingers along the boy's jaw back up to his ear. He gently tugged the lobe before cupping the back of Galahad's neck, trapping him in his grip. Tristan turned the kiss. It became forceful, deep and powerful. He wrapped a leg around his boy, pressing them as close as possible, while he sucked Galahad’s tongue. The boy made soft noises. Tristan nearly purred as he slid his hand up the back of Galahad's head, twisting soft curls in his fingers. He tugged gently while breaking the kiss, nipping at the swollen upper lip and pulling back to watch him.  Galahad licked his lips and Tristan wanted them once more.

 

”Fuck,” Galahad drawled with a lazy smile and half-lidded eyes.  “You are incorrigible.  I was trying to have a serious conversation.  Not that I'm complaining really.”

 

”No?” He ran a hand through damp curls.  “Sounds like it.  Do you need something better to do with your tongue?”

 

“No, it's too easy to be distracted by you. We could spend all day in bed.”

 

“Well, they have been refusing to let me leave.”

 

“Maybe I could sneak you out?”

 

“Maybe this afternoon. I have plans for this morning.”

 

“Do you?”

 

“Yes, making up for lost time.”

 

“Really?  And how do you plan on doing that?”

 

“Well, I think I’ll start with more of this…”

 

Tristan placed a few more kisses on Galahad’s lips before dragging his mouth down his throat, deliberately taking small tastes until he nearly reached the shoulder.  Tristan stopped to mark the boy.  The deep purple of his work stood out stark on his pale skin.  Wanting to see it against pink, Tristan ran his hand along Galahad’s chest until he found a small nub.  He pinched the nipple to a hard peak.  Galahad groaned low and grabbed Tristan’s hair, pressing him back against his neck.  Tristan left another purple mark while he rolled the nipple in his fingers and gave a small twist.

 

“Oh!”

 

A sharp tug on his hair encouraged Tristan to take the nub in his mouth instead.  Tristan obeyed with a wet suck and teased his fingertips down the boy’s belly.  Galahad shivered through his moan.  Tristan began to rub his hip, small strokes as he lapped at the nipple beneath his lips.  When those hips thrust against him, Tristan grabbed Galahad’s ass and bit him.

 

“Oh god!”

 

Tristan crushed the boy close once more with the leg still wrapped around him, kneading the firm muscle in his hand.  He placed gentle kisses to the abused nub before sucking it back into his mouth.  Tristan teased fingers down Galahad’s ass crack, flicking his tongue against the nipple just as he brushed across his tight hole.

 

“Oh fuck.”  Snarled practically in his ear.

 

Sucking hard, Tristan rubbed across the hole this time.

 

“Christ!”  Hands pulling his hair.

 

Biting, Tristan pushed just past the tight ring.

 

“Tristannnn…”  Whole body arching against him.

 

Galahad was firm and soft, warm in Tristan’s hand and mouth.  He was so wonderful pressed against him.  Their bodies fit perfectly.  Tristan wanted to fuck him, but sadly not today.  He wasn't certain he was up to it. With a sigh he released the swollen nipple and dragged his lips back up that beautiful throat.  He pulled his fingertip from the boy’s body, circling the tight ring one last time.  Galahad pulled him up by his hair.  He bit at Tristan’s lip and licked his way into his mouth, a desperate desire stirred that Tristan wanted to soothe.  He stroked along Galahad’s side as he reined in the kiss.  He slowly tasted, letting the boy in, and encouraged a soft push and pull.  No longer frantic, Galahad hummed against his lips.  Tristan let him be the one to pull away, the one to speak.

 

“I’ve always loved you. Did you know that?”

 

“No, I…”  

 

A soft thumb to Tristan’s lips.

 

“Really, even when you were the biggest ass to me.” He smiled, eyes alight.  “I knew I would never have you, and that made me so angry. More angry than the teasing, actually.”  He turned pensive.  “I could have stopped a lot of it. I could’ve fucked one of those girls, but I never wanted them. I only wanted you.”

 

“Just me?”  Tristan smiled. _Wonderful._

 

“Well, and that stable boy.”

 

“What stable boy?” _Not so wonderful._

 

“From that very first time. You and Bors decided it was high time I got my dick wet. You left me to take care of the horses, and I never joined you. You must remember.”

 

“Ah yes, we thought you'd run away.”

 

“And I have never heard the end of it. ‘Galahad The Pure’ haunts me to this day. But you know what?  I did get my dick wet. He gave great head.”

 

“As great as me?”

 

"Oh god no.” He grinned. “Are you jealous of something that happened over ten years ago?”

 

“No, just seeing where I stand.”

 

“Did you think you were my first?”

 

“Of course not.”

 

Galahad cocked a brow.

 

“Okay, maybe I’d hoped.  But that’s not the same.  You are too beautiful to be a virgin.  I know this.”

 

A blush flashed across Galahad’s skin.  Tristan smirked.

 

“But obviously I can be the first _something_ …”

 

He pondered a moment. Galahad refused to meet his eye.

 

“Never mind for now.  Plenty of time to figure out which debauched things I can teach you.”

 

Galahad was a fascinating shade of red now.

 

“Oh look.  ‘Galahad The Pure’ has returned.”

 

“Tristan.” He glared daggers at him.  “Back to the teasing, I see.”

 

“You’re teasing!”

 

“I wanted…”

 

“I know what you were trying to do, but it doesn't matter. I nearly died, Galahad. What happened before isn't important. What's happening now is. This is all that matters.”

 

“I was trying to share something, and you… you can’t even talk about it.”

 

Tristan knew better than to mock the wetness in Galahad’s eyes.

 

“Damn it, pup.”  Tristan buried his face against the boy’s ear.  “You accidentally called me ‘love’.”  A whisper and a kiss.  “I intentionally called you ‘love’.”  Another kiss.  “Isn't that good enough?”

 

Tristan could feel him breathing, in the movement in his arms and the warmth against his neck.

 

“Yes.”  Galahad pulled back to look Tristan in the eye and  smiled.  “Of course it is, _love._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and any kudos and comments you may leave!
> 
> I really appreciate it! :3
> 
>  
> 
> Come and join me on [Tumblr.](https://wraithsonwingsposts.tumblr.com)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and any kudos or comments that you may leave!!
> 
>  
> 
> Join me on [Tumblr](https://wraithsonwingsposts.tumblr.com/).


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